


an artistic description

by orphan_account



Category: Block B
Genre: Artistic Descriptions, Coffee Shops, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Libraries, M/M, Other, Scenarios, Studios, Tattoos, descriptions, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A seven part oneshot collection; Ink, Sketch, Sculpture, Poetry, Maquillage, Record and Bookshelves.





	1. Ink, Lee Taeil

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series of mine on the Block B Amino, but I decided to publish it here as a mini series because I want you guys to see the variety of groups I can write about.
> 
> It sucks though. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever seen someone throw a cloth over Van Gogh's portraits?"

Your heart fluttered desperately against your chest as he looked over the thick rim of his glasses at you. His round eyes glittered, falling stars raining down and pooling in his kohl smudged waterline. His dark eyebrows arched into his ringlets of hair. It had flopped forward to cover his forehead, a soft wave brushed across as a frame to his face. 

His thick glasses were perched on the end of his nose, magnifying his sparkling eyes and reflecting shards of light cast from the weak morning sun. His mouth was curled up in a smile, lips stretched across his pearly teeth, which had pinched the tip of his red tongue between them. 

He had soft dimples burrowed in his cheeks, and his eyes crinkled as he covered his mouth with his hand. His sleeve slipped down, and bright tendrils of ink curled themselves out of the confines of his sleeves, spreading across the back of his hand and painting beautiful portraits. His gaze softened and eyes focused again, and he lowered his hand, a soft, dreamy blush flushing the apples of his cheeks, and then pulled his sleeve over his hand and stepped back, a shy look crawling across his warm features.

"Oh, I forgot. I'm sorry, I should cover them, people dont typically like se-" His sentence caught in the back of his throat as you grabbed his covered hand gently and tugged the sleeve away. 

"Don't. They're beautiful, unique. Be proud of them. Have you ever seen someone throw a cloth over Van Gogh's portraits?" He listened and a smile broke across his face, lighting up his features once again as you ran the pad of your thumb softly across the strokes of ink adorning his pale skin.


	2. Sketch, Lee Minhyuk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is Minhyuk. He will be our model today."

The class sat in silence, sketchpads rested on large boards on their knees and pencils scratching roughly against spreads of paper. Your eyes flicked around the room as you watched people snag glances at the man before you, sketching out his lean figure, blocking in his soft eyes.

"This is Minhyuk. He will be our model today." Your art teacher had said as Minhyuk had breezed into the classroom earlier on that lesson. Everyone had greeted him and went about setting up their workspaces, but your eyes had lingered longer on his soft face.

But now he was sat on a table, one long leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent at the knee, with his elbow leaning on it and head resting in the palm of his hand. He was wearing washed-out black jeans, slung low on his small hips and a see through white dress shirt. It was unbuttoned down to halfway, and a vast expanse of honeyed skin peeked through. 

Small freckles and moles dotted his chest; mapping out constellations and individual stars. His shirt fluttered shut against his skin as his chest rose with every intake of breathe, before opening slightly again as he exhaled. His collarbone dipped and rose softly, hiding behind the collar of his shirt. 

His head was tilted back at a gentle angle. The sharp edge of his jawline jutted out and melted into his neck and rosy cheeks. He had a high bridged nose framed by dark, slanted eyebrows. It hooked downwards ever so slightly at the narrow tip. His eyes were round and smoked out with a warm brown shadow. His short lashes reflected in his watery eyes and fluttered as he blinked. 

The teacher cleared his throat and peered over the black frames of his thick glasses at you, a sharp look in his small eyes. You swallowed and looked down, mildly mortified to find Minhyuk watching you with a gentle smirk adorning his features. His soft lips were turned up at the corners, a line carved below his cheeks as he watched you sketch.

You blinked, and the bell rang. Your pencil dropped and the lead shattered against the floor. A shadow crossed your line of vision and you looked up.

"Hello, I'm Minhyuk. Do you like coffee?"


	3. Sculpture, Ahn Jaehyo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Excuse me, this isn't an art gallery, please don't stare like that."

The clouds had cracked open and coated everything in a cold, wet downpour. The roads were slick with rain and shop owners hustled onto the small sidewalks to pull in large signs and wet merchandise. You plodded up the road, boots squelching with water and jacket heavy and cold. A barista with wet brown hair maneuvered around you as you ducked into a small café packed between a bookshop and a florist.

It was mostly empty, with a few students packed into the booths, papers and pens strewn across the tabletops and a half-finished coffee sitting beside their dying computers. You sighed and turned to the menu, vaguely noticing the barista slipping back through the door and behind the counter. Your gaze slid from the menu to his soft features and you forgot about your coffee for a short while.

He had a round face, soft at the edges, and chubby cheeks that were blotched pink. The tip of his narrow nose was also pink from the icy cold that had nibbled at it outside. He had round eyes, lined with warm brown and a hint of black. Drops of rain clung to his long lashes and dripped onto his skin, running small trails through his foundation. A golden shade of highlight sat atop his cheekbones and below his tidy eyebrows, and it shimmered as he turned his head to look up at you. He had a towel in one hand and a large coffee cup in the other, and his well manicured fingernails tapped at the side rhythmically.

"Excuse me, this isn't an art gallery, please don't stare like that, it's making me blush. What would you like to drink?"

Sure enough, his face was a strained pink and a playful smile ran across his full lips. He shook his head and set down the cup as you approached.

"A...A chai latte, please." Your voice cracked as you opened your wallet.

"No need to pay, it's on the house. I'd rather you saved your money for admission to the art gallery down the road. The sculptures there are far more interesting to look at than myself."

You must have had 'skepticism' etched across your forehead, because here you were, at the art gallery with the barista, listening to him try to convince you that a sculpture was more beautiful than himself. He was stood next to a large bust, long legs stretched out as he posed comically.

"You're staring again."

"At the artwork, Jaehyo." You knew his name now. It rolled off your tongue and tasted like honey.

"Which artwork?"

"The sculpture. I'll stare at you later."


	4. Poetry, Kim Yukwon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you writing, Yukwon?"

He was staring across at you, and you stared back, drinking in his appearance. You appreciated the comfortable silence as he tore his eyes away and scratched his pen across the blank page below him. Your eyes remained trained on his face and you studied his features. 

His eyes slanted downwards at the end, and were smoked out with black eyeshadow. He had deep brown eyes, pools that rippled with flecks of copper. His eyebrows were thick, but tapered down into a slick point at the ends. They were furrowed, bunched up, stitched together above the bridge of his nose as he dragged the pen across the page. 

His eyelashes danced across the top of his cheekbones everytime he blinked, casting long shadows like threads of silk across his warm skin. His nose was turned up ever so slightly at the tip, a thin line buried in the skin in between his nostrils and stretched out before fading into nothing, leading into the crevice above his lips and skimming across his cupids bow. 

His lips were round and full, flushed with a rosy pink and pulled between his perfect teeth. They dug into the unmarred skin and tugged gently as he stopped writing for a heartbeat before resuming hastily. He let his lip go and it fell back to where it always sat, a small sliver of a shadow brushed in the crease on his chin. 

He shook his head out and his dark hair fell into his face, curling into his eyes and sitting atop his browbone. It covered the shallow scarring across his forehead, the honey skin that glowed in the sun and stretched across his ears, decorated with an array of small studs. Suddenly, he was looking up at you and your eyelashes fluttered, a soft blush creeping up your neck as he peered across at you, pen pressed against the paper and ink seeping through the pages. He was smiling and his eyes were crinkling, mouth open as he flashed his perfect teeth with their small gap in between the front two.

"What are you writing, Yukwon?" His name slipped off of your tongue and melted into the air.

"A poem." He smiled and tapped his pen against the page.

"What about?" 

"About you."


	5. Maquillage, Park Kyung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For Christ's sake, don't smile! Your eyes crinkle and the makeup cracks."

You scolded the man sitting in front of the mirror, slapping his hand gently to keep him still. He flicked you an apologetic look, and straightened his back, waiting for the feeling of you blending makeup into his skin.

You brushed his hair back, the brown strings of silk running through your fingers like water, and snapped a clip into his fringe. He flinched slightly at the action, but relaxed into your hands as you tilted his head up slightly to look at you. He had contacts in, a bright blue with a dark ring around the outside. He was blinking up at you as you stared at him, slightly lost in his warm eyes. You tapped his cheek lightly and rolled your eyes as he smiled cheekily.

"Close your eyes and wipe that smile off of your face." You opened up the compact cushion with a click and tapped it into his skin, running across his nose and along his brow bone, on his cheeks and down his neck. He smiled as you ran lightly over his eyelids, and you hissed through your teeth and breathed loudly. "For Christ's sake, don't smile! Your eyes crinkle and the makeup cracks." You shook your head and snapped the compact shut, reaching for powder and a brush instead, setting his makeup quickly.

"Close your eyes again, and don't smile." He smiled anyways as you ran the brush along his lids, flourishes of colour blooming across his pale skin. You tapped his cheek and he opened his eyes, which you'd smoked out with red and purple and black. His long eyelashes fluttered and you smiled softly, reaching for a small red tube. He parted his lips, and you smeared a stroke of red onto your finger. You followed the slope of his plush lips, now a soft red. He smiled again as you pulled away and unclipped his hair.

"Have fun, don't stress too much, don't smear your makeup and keep Jiho in line for me, okay? And eat!" You placed a soft kiss on the end of his narrow nose and he returned the favour. You felt fire erupt and spread across your cheeks as he pulled away and stood up, straightening out his clothing.

"You too, baby. And try as I must, Jiho will not stay in line. Silly kid." Kyung laughed and departed the small room, making way for none other than Jiho bounding through the open door.


	6. Record, Woo Jiho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Was that okay? You're looking at me weirdly."

Tap tap.

You drummed your fingers against the glass in front of you, tapping against the keyboard with your free hand as you logged in. The man on the other side of the glass lifted his head, hands on either side of the large pair of headphones he was wearing. You opened up a program and signalled a thumbs up to the man. 

He took a sip of water, and flicked a small switch on the side of the microphone in front of him. A sheet of paper was pinned to a stand to his right and he scribbled a small note in the corner and nodded at you. He spoke into the microphone, his smooth voice rolling through your own headset, and you could almost see each syllable flowing off of his tongue. 

"Can you hear me?" He tilted his head and you nodded, keying something into the computer and opening up a small monitor to record him as he rolled through the words on his paper.

His voice was rough around the edges, but still carried breathtaking power. His tongue darted out between every few lines and dragged across his bottom lip, leaving a slick trail in its wake. He was tapping his foot in time with the track flowing through his headphones, and his dark hair was falling in his eyes. You watched him, the world around you falling away slowly. You drank up his features like it'd be the last time you'd see him. 

His eyes were crinkling at the corners, shut tight with his short lashes stretching to brush his cheeks. His skin was glowing, a small splatter of scarring scattered across his round nose, almost giving him schoolboy freckles. His unkempt brows were knitted together in concentration as he nodded along with the words that flowed freely out of his mouth. He'd pulled his long sleeves over his hands and he waved his arms around gently. Your world had fallen away and that was okay. 

"Was that okay? You're looking at me weirdly." You blinked, watching the room piece itself back together in front of your eyes and swallowed back a blush. You looked at the monitor and sighed.

"I-I'm sorry, i didn't press record."


	7. Bookshelves, Pyo Jihoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''It's impossible to fly through glass.''

You weaved in between the towering bookshelves, shoes lightly scuffing the worn carpet. Your arms were clutched around an arrangement of physics books; with finals looming nearer, you didn't dare miss a single thing to study. You turned a corner and stopped, your arms loosening ever so slightly on the stack of books. 

Leaning against one of the high shelving units was a boy. He was tall, with long legs and arms, one draped over a shelf and the other spread out holding a large chapter book close to his face. His fingers were long and thin, fingernails filed to perfection, his index nail tapped lightly on the hard cover of the book as he stared down at the clean pages. His long legs were folded as his lithe frame melted into the bookshelf, lost in a world of his own.

There was a loud thud as your grip loosened completely on the books as they crashed to the floor. You jumped and peered over at the librarian, who was stacking books in the next aisle and shooting frustrated glares your way. You blinked in apology and dropped, gathering your books. A second pair of hands joined you, long fingers and shiny nails. Your eyes raked up the persons arm, and your throat constricted as you realised that it was the boy you'd been staring at moments prior. 

His thin black glasses had slid down his slightly hooked nose in his frantic attempt to help you compose yourself. You were so close to him, you realised as your heart threw itself against your chest like a bird trying to escape a locked room. You were close enough to see the streaks of his makeup, lightly creased around his eyes, and the thin layer of peach blush dusted across his cheeks.

His eyebrows were filled in, strong and bold, but somehow still making his long face seem soft and round. He chuckled, the low sound rumbling in his throat and you realised you were staring now, splatters of hazel shimmering in his brown eyes. You pulled back quickly and stood, swaying slightly.

'Stupid bird,' You told the thrumming in your chest.  
'It's impossible to fly through glass.'


End file.
